Building Blocks, an Intermittens Submission

[Manta Obscura]

Hi everyone,

I just finished up a rough draft of a possible submission to Intermittens 2. It's an allegory about the BIP and self-determination. If anyone has critiques, praise, criticisms, or simply wants to tell me that it sucks, any feedback would be appreciated. This version is also posted under the Intermittens 2 thread:

Building Blocks, an Allegory in Three Parts
Or
The Wisdom of St. Teresa of Avila
By Manta Obscura

On the built-in wall shelf in my living room rests a dusty and bulbous protrusion of Lego blocks that, if one squints at them hard enough, sort of resemble the castle on the box in which they came. The toy has degenerated into one great, leftover battle scar of what it once was, its great spires crumbling after repeated exposures to hardwood floors while under the influence of gravity. The Lego persons within it all miss some sort of vital appendage, and are scattered throughout the broken battlements in various awkward, lewd or compromising positions. My wife, family, friends, and anyone else who has an ounce of decorative taste tell me that the whole eyesore should be removed at once and should be replaced, ideally, with a tasteful knick-knack, or at worst a fully functional Lego contraption. I refuse to move it, partly because I still play with it, fiddling around with the pieces while watching Bob Ross in the afternoons, but mostly because the castle has become a symbol to me.

Whenever I tinker with the pieces, I reflect on how our inner lives – our inner castles, as the Christian mystic St. Teresa of Avila would say – are a lot like the Lego pieces. We start our lives with just the base, the biology, the big green foundation piece on which the other Legos are built. As we grow there are others, be they friends, parents, bosses, leaders, lovers or whoever, who take part in writing our instruction manual, in shaping us into the strong, sturdy structure that the rules tell us we should be.

Follow the manual, and your castle will come out looking great, just like on the box. You will have two spires, one draw bridge, and a Lego treasure chest tucked beneath the dungeon trapdoor. Your two knights will be positioned at opposite sections along the wall fortifications, and your wizard will be in the leftmost tower with his wand.

When, at the tender age of eight, I first built the castle, I loved the original design. I loved riding the horses through the drawbridge, or hosting swordfights in the court. All was as it should be.

But after a while, the toy lost its charm. Having exhausted the fun of the design, I didn't want to play with it any longer. Having taken so much time building it up, I didn't want to change it. And so the castle was exiled for years on end, dwelling in closets, attics and basements, forgotten in the daily routine of life. At certain times it would sneak out to festoon my shelves, but never again did the old design entice me to play.

It is only by a happy accident – a misplaced brush of the hand, a sudden topple and the explosion of a thousand pieces – that the old design ever came to change. For as the old design was destroyed, I was forced to put the piece together again.

There always comes a time when something breaks the castle walls. It is during those times that one must seriously think about how to build, how to put the walls together again, for when the blocks fall down you have a choice to make: follow the plans, or just say "fuck all" and wing it?

When my castle broke it occurred to me, on a whim, that the only thing that had been holding it together was tradition. The stagnant stillness of uniformity and repetition had kept the walls intact. But now, like a minor miracle, was the chance to change things up, to make it fun again. I began to build.

Spires rose from courtyards. The dungeon filled with gold. Brave Lego knights were dressed in princess hats and put on the backs of dragons. Doors were built that led to nowhere, and the wizard escaped his spire.

The castle was no longer the sterile, dusty tomb it had been. The walls were replaced, rebuilt elsewhere, the tenants changed and charged with new duties from their former deadened vigils.

All was as it should be.

*   *   *

I take apart the castle now and then, putting it together to suit my tastes at the moment. The current motif is medieval techno rave party. I hope the Lego men are having fun.

After you take the first step in pushing through the original design, it gets ever-easier replacing blocks, changing bridges, and pulling apart the treasure inside. It gets easier stealing pieces from the Space Station Lego set to turn last week's cowboy ninjas into dragon astronauts.

The newness lasts for awhile, and then interest and use subsides. Something new must be built.

That's when you turn on Bob Ross and start thinking of whether your Shaman Troll will look better in an industrial city or in a dark moon's chasm, hidden from the stars.

*   *   *

St. Teresa found God behind the innermost wall of her interior castles. As I play with my Legos, building new spires from broken bridges, I wonder what I'll find in mine.

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

That is awesome.